


Cassandra's Dream

by soriso



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cassandra Pentaghast/OFC, Casual Sex, F/F, Female Mage Hawke/Isabela - Freeform, Friends With Benefits, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 21:53:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7658059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soriso/pseuds/soriso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cassandra was pious, but happened to be blessed with eyesight so excellent that it often led her into temptation - and Hawke proved to be one of said temptations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cassandra's Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Sen Cassandry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6170314) by [le_mru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/le_mru/pseuds/le_mru). 



Cassandra was pious, but happened to be blessed with eyesight so excellent that it often led her into temptation. Hawke had caught her eye already during her first stay in Kirkwall, back when the city state had been but a stop on the long journey of the Right and Left Hand of the Divine. She was standing by the wharf, looking with no particular interest at the people of Kirkwall making the most of fair day, when suddenly she caught a glimpse of _her_ : a beautiful, slender figure, walking with confidence that bordered on arrogance, her hair blowing in the breeze, hand grasping a traveller's cane that with some amount of effort on the part of bystanders could pass – but not necessarily – for a mage's staff.

"Who is that?" she asked the Templar overlooking the transhipment, motioning at the woman with her head.

"It's Messere Hawke," he said. "Heiress to the Amells, but of Fereldan refugees."

A Fereldan. To some extent, that explained the looks. The Templar tried to add something, but she silenced him with a gesture, her eyes following Hawke's retreating back.

Even though she could probably come up with an excuse to stay in Kirkwall longer – there was something suspicious in the way everyone there kept zealously assuring her that everything was in perfect order – she pushed that thought aside. The beautiful girl remained imprinted in her memory, a consolation for long evenings of Fereldan winter, when Cassandra would picture her wearing a bear fur – and _only_ that – or entering a tub full of steamy water, soft candlelight illuminating her curves.

These weren't thoughts beseeming the knights of the Divine, that part was sure, even knights such as Cassandra, whose numerous virtues could as well redress the imperfections of the body. Said body unfortunately had a mind of its own, and, certainly, plans of its own, ones that very often included girls in various states of undress, and sometimes also young strapping men bathing in mountain streams. Cassandra couldn't even find it in herself to blame that body, as it hadn't experienced carnal delights ever since that time in Antiva when a novice of the Order of the Knights of the Temple, that is, the Templars, had slipped into her bed.

While visiting the Northern lands, she had been well aware that Antiva had its own customs, but she hadn't suspected that such unhampered disposing of one's charms was one of them. When the girl slipped into her room and untied the sash of her robe, Cassandra was both rendered speechless and unable to control her limbs, which somewhat interfered with her taking off her boots. The novice clearly took Cassandra's silence and inertia as permission, because she threw off her robe, revealing her evident and shameless nakedness underneath, and approached Cassandra slowly. Her skin was glistening, her curly, black hair splayed across her shoulders, partially covering her breasts. Cassandra felt a wave of heat come over her face, and then the same heat travelling down to her belly; she hardly protested when the girl threw her arms around her neck and sat on her lap.

Yes, that was Antiva alright. The following day she met the same novice during the mass in the cathedral and blushed so hard she almost caught fire, lewd flashes of the previous night playing themselves out underneath her eyelids for the duration of the service.

She fasted for a week after that. Leliana, blessed with eyesight of which a bird of prey would certainly be jealous, probably saw right through her, but somehow refrained from making any comments. Leliana was far from a saint herself, after all.

When the Chantry in Kirkwall exploded, and the Circles and the Orders went completely mad, identifying the primary agents in that conflict became an action of utmost importance. That was when the portrait of the Amells of Kirkwall emerged – featuring a person completely different than the one remembered by Cassandra.

"That is Hawke?"

"Of course." Leliana brushed the portrait off, getting rid of the dust. "Hawke with her brother and mother. The mother died in somewhat mysterious circumstances, and the brother joined the Grey Wardens some time after they arrived in Kirkwall. The painting was commissioned back when the family was complete, so their appearances may have changed slightly."

Hawke was actually far from a Fereldan beauty, and the painter certainly seemed to agree. Her skin was so pale it seemed to reflect light, the bridge of her hooked nose was sunburnt and her cheeks sprinkled with freckles. Unruly black hair and icy blue eyes stood in stark contrast to that. Her brother had similar, but rougher features, while her mother was a classic beauty, which allowed for the assumption that the children took after the absent befreckled father.

"Why are you so surprised, Cassandra?" asked the Divine, puzzled.

"I thought I saw her in Kirkwall. But I was misinformed."

"Were you?" the Divine continued, folding her arms.

"No matter. The portrait should help us find her."

Leliana did not reveal too many emotions, but Cassandra knew her well enough to recognise doubt. It was not without merit: they had been looking for Hawke for three years, in vain, only to finally come across her when they already had a different Inquisitor.

Hawke appeared in Skyhold not long after the spring equinox, on a rainy afternoon, one that Cassandra spent with Cullen, soaking the recruits in mud. Their organisation grew so big that there was constant movement in the lower courtyard, which allowed Hawke to sneak past them without attracting the attention of most of the people that were in the hold that day. Later, Cassandra counted that she had spent half a day blissfully unaware of Hawke's presence and the change said presence had brought about: during that time, she went to the baths, warmed up, scrubbed herself clean and put on her usual outfit, the same that informed everyone about her belligerent attitude, and just as she was leaving, the perfect moment to finally notice Hawke arose.

She was marching across the courtyard, clearly headed for the main tower. Even though her likeness on the portrait was rather forgettable, in real life she immediately attracted attention: the angular armour she was clad in, made of matte metal, made her seem twice as big as she really was, and her various accompanying accessories, heavy boots included, clanked with every step she took. By now, her features were so imprinted in Cassandra's mind, she didn't doubt for a second who she was dealing with.

She turned on her heel and went to get Varric.

After the Inquisitor saved the treacherous dwarf from Cassandra's rightful wrath, she trapped Hawke in a meeting lasting many hours, during which she probably tried to verify Varric's countless lies. For her part, Cassandra stayed put just outside the war room, convinced by now that her confrontation with Hawke was unavoidable. But when push came to shove and the door opened, she realised that she didn't know what to say, so she kept quiet, a single shudder running through her – a sure sign of the incoming cold sweat that often troubled her during embarrassing social situations.

Hawke exited the war room marching determinedly, her steps echoing loudly in the corridor. Having crossed half of it, she stopped suddenly, as if she had felt someone's eyes piercing into her back, and hooked her thumbs on her belt as if on an afterthought. "Seeker Cassandra," she said, turning around slowly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You know who I am?" managed Cassandra.

"Of course." Hawke gave her a quick once-over. "It would be stupid of me not to know the person that spent so much time looking for me, and so eagerly."

"But to no avail."

"Not for your lack of trying, Seeker." Hawke swaggered closer. "I didn't want you to find me."

"That much I have gathered," said Cassandra with some spite. She was taller than Hawke, but still felt uncomfortable in her presence, as if her breastplate had suddenly stopped protecting her from attacks.

Hawke was now looking at Cassandra openly. A strange expression appeared on her face: a mixture of interest and appreciation.

"Well, now I am here. What was it that you wanted from me?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," Cassandra said. A trickle of sweat was running down her back.

Hawke just stood there for a while, looking at the walls and the floor as if answers to some of her questions were hidden there, and then she turned and went away. Trivial as it may have seemed, it actually wasn't – Cassandra let out the air she'd been holding and wiped her forehead, because Hawke turned out to share the same dimension with them, and now even the same air and keep, thereby shifting from the land of myth to the land of possibility.

Cassandra, however, was not able to describe it exactly, therefore she couldn't even tell it to anybody, if she ever had such a notion. For her own purpose she understood that particular feeling as a gentle transformation of reality, one that could be conveyed through the first day of spring, when the air was warm enough to vibrate with an earthly smell, and the light gained new quality – but she wouldn't trust herself not to ruin that metaphor with cheap sentiment. It was primal, carnal, more connected with nature than reason.

Hawke showed up in the war room the next day and stood there, leaning nonchalantly against the table, fully armoured as if preparing for battle. Cassandra, slightly late because of some trouble in the mage tower, glanced at her briefly and cut to the chase, but she could feel Hawke's eyes on her, mainly somewhere on her neck.

That evening Hawke found her in the room above the smithy. She knocked on the door and entered, not waiting for an answer – judging by the knocking of her heels, she walked around the room downstairs for a while, looking at the bellows and furnaces, and after a moment's hesitation she started heading upstairs. The stairs gave a creaking noise.

"Seeker."

"Hawke. Come in, please. To what do I owe this visit?"

Hawke sat on the opposite side of the table. Her armour was still on, but she got rid of her gauntlets. She had big, strong hands of someone who grew up in the countryside, and intricate lines of her blue veins showed through the pale skin on her forearms. Cassandra had never been close enough to notice it before.

"I'm just walking around, you know, trying to get the feel of that organisation of yours." Hawke made herself comfortable on the chair the way someone that had nothing to fear would, resting one hand on the table and the other on her thigh.

Cassandra put aside the quill, luckily right into the inkwell.

"What would you like to find out from me?"

"What is it that you do here."

"I am a member of the Council." Cassandra put her hands together, fastening her eyes somewhere over Hawke's shoulder. "I advise the Inquisitor. I oversee the Templars. Occasionally I lead the expeditions."

"So one could say you act as her Right Hand?"

"One could probably say that."

"Like you did for the Divine?"

"If you fear for your safety as an apostate, you need not. I am sure the Inquisitor had already offered her assurance on that front."

"An apostate?" Hawke cocked her eyebrows in a comical manner. "What makes you think I'm an apostate?"

"I read Varric's book very carefully," Cassandra replied.

Hawke frowned, clearly unable to determine whether she was joking or not. "I wouldn't dare assume that a person such as yourself sets store by Varric's writing."

"Because I don't. But this," Cassandra clenched her fist, for a fraction of a second binding the lyrium present in the room, "never lies."

Hawke jumped in her chair, as if someone had just pinched her buttocks. The smell of ozone rose in the air.

"That was rude," she said, rubbing her arms. "I didn't take you for someone who likes to play dirty, Seeker."

"That's because you know nothing about me," Cassandra shot back, raising to the challenge Hawke's tone conveyed, and perhaps even letting herself get a bit carried away.

Hawke tilted her head to the side, interested, and Cassandra understood she had just given ground – or at least part of it.

Ultimately, Hawke backed down. She gave a lazy bow, didn't put the chair back in its place and left the room, unhurried, which in its own way was already quite a statement. Cassandra was left there with a growing feeling of irritation that stemmed from the dissonance between the preconception she had of Hawke and the real thing. She knew she shouldn't have such idealistic notions, not after all the time spent in service to the Chantry, but either Varric, annoyingly enough, was all in all a good enough writer to depict what one could expect from a champion, or Cassandra did that all on her own while reading, she wasn't sure.

It wasn’t her right to hold a grudge for disproving that particular piece of fiction – but she held it all the same. During the next war table meeting she spoke in monosyllables, which didn't go by unnoticed – come evening, the Inquisitor took her to the tavern to have a little chat.

"Do correct me if I'm wrong," she said once all the compulsory comments on the Fereldan weather had been made, "but I was under the impression that you are not happy with Hawke's presence here."

"It is a wrong impression," said Cassandra politely, not intending to elaborate.

"Her being here is dictated by the task at hand, nothing else."

"I have nothing against that. I am angry with Varric for keeping certain facts a secret, as you probably have noticed."

"Indeed I have." The Inquisitor wiped off the wet circle her mug had left on the table. "She did inform me that you threatened her, though."

"Threatened?" Cassandra was astounded. "It was but a warning."

The Inquisitor's bemused expression and the frightened look the bartending dwarf sent her way made her realise she was being too loud.

"I wouldn't even call it an incident," she added, lowering her voice. "A small one, if anything."

"Still." The Inquisitor cleared her throat. "Should she cause any trouble, let me know."

Cassandra got the impression that they expected _her_ to be the one causing trouble, which was unfair considering that so far she had only been using threats in situations that really required it, and yes, a few times on Varric, but it was something else entirely. The Inquisitor left the tavern soon after, claiming she had overdue correspondence to take care of, and Cassandra stayed behind to finish off her beer in grim silence, made even more depressing by realisation that everyone around her seemed to be having a good time.

"Drinking alone?" Hawke asked, taking the seat abandoned by the Inquisitor. "I've heard it's a bad sign."

"Do you have something you wish to discuss?" asked Cassandra coldly, moving her elbow to keep it from touching Hawke's arm.

"I do. Let's make use of this situation to get to know more about Seeker Pentaghast – as you yourself suggested, what, yesterday?"

"I'd gladly find out why you told on me to the Inquisitor."

"Told on you?" Hawke snorted, almost spitting out her beer onto the counter. "She asked me for my thoughts, so I told her you showed me my place. It was very interesting, by the way, that thing you did. I've never experienced anything like this."

Cassandra looked her right in the eyes, trying to determine if she wasn't stretching out the truth a little. It didn't look like it: Hawke's icy blue eyes were calm and honest, and her face, lit with soft candle light, looked gentler and prettier than before.

"What do you want to know?" Cassandra asked, feeling generous, benevolent even.

Hawke narrowed her eyes and leant forward; something warm touched Cassandra's thigh and she realised it was Hawke's bare hand that had just disappeared from the mug handle. "Just how much would you allow me to get to know you?"

Cassandra drew back enough for the hand to naturally fall to the bench. "I think you're out of line," she hissed, her cheeks and ears hot. The flush had probably spread to her neck, too, but luckily it wasn't that visible.

"It was just a joke, easy." Hawke patted her on the back in a friendly manner. "You should loosen up a little."

"That's why I came here to drink," Cassandra said. Her heart was beating wildly and the embarrassment she felt was slowly, familiarly beginning to turn into anger.

Cassandra could not comprehend why Hawke would joke like that. After all, she didn't know about the novice from Antiva, she didn't know what Cassandra had been thinking after her visit in Kirkwall; she couldn't know.

"But I digress," Hawke continued calmly, even though she did not look like someone who knew what 'digress' meant. "What was it that you used on me and should I expect it to ever happen again?"

"Only if used by other Seekers," said Cassandra. Her Order seemed like a safe enough topic. "And there aren't many of them left. Templars can't do that."

"But what was it?"

"Theoretically, I shouldn't be talking about it."

"Ah, it's a secret. Theoretically."

Suddenly, Cassandra felt stupid because of the way she had reacted earlier. Next to her, Hawke, unaware of that, kept drinking her beer. There was no escape.

"I can show you tomorrow." Cassandra relented. "But not on the main courtyard – there are too many people there."

"Where, then?" Hawke's eyes shone with curiosity.

"Pass the main tower, turn left and go up. There's a small inner courtyard there, a garden to be more precise, and no one save for the Inquisitor can see it from their quarters. At dawn."

"It's a date." Hawke patted her on the shoulder, her mouth stretching in a grin.

That night Cassandra went to bed angry and spent a long time just lying on her back, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, where spiders frolicked in the dark, probably. With some difficulty, she managed to get up at dawn, splashed some cold water on her face, put on the gambeson she usually wore underneath her armour and went to the appointed spot.

Hawke, naturally, made her wait. She showed up half an hour later, smiling and relaxed, her shirt tucked carelessly into her pants. Across her shoulders she held her staff, which was topped with a blade; she was bracing her arms against it.

Cassandra unbuckled her sword belt and threw it aside. Seeing that, Hawke took the staff off her shoulders, thrust it into the ground next to her and rubbed her hands together.

"So what now?" she called out.

"Take a step back towards the wall and attack me."

"How?"

"However you want. Well, no fire, there's no need to ruin clothes."

Hawke nodded in confirmation. For a while nothing happened; they were both either gathering their strength or looking for inspiration, it was hard to say which, and then Hawke raised her arms over her head and lowered them down rapidly.

The ground shook and went on to welcome Cassandra, who managed to bind the lyrium mid-air before she slammed her back against the ground, blessing her earlier decision to put on the gambeson. When she raised herself on her elbow, a grimace of pain on her face, she noticed Hawke was also lying on the grass.

"How did you like it?" Cassandra asked as she got up.

"Not much. What is it? I've never seen it before."

"Binding of lyrium." Cassandra walked over to Hawke, who was still flat on her back. "A rare skill that shouldn't be overused."

"Good to know." Hawke flashed her teeth and attacked her again, but Cassandra was prepared for that: she managed to evade the energy bolt and nipped the remaining magic in the bud; a muffling cloak stretched over the garden, Hawke kicked, hooking her leg behind Cassandra's knee and toppling her to the ground. They rolled in the grass, fighting for dominance, when finally Hawke landed on top and Cassandra grabbed her shoulder in a warning gesture.

It was only when they went still that she became aware of the spot she had chosen: during their struggle, Hawke's shirt had slipped off her shoulder and now Cassandra's hand was pressed to that place where the shoulder and the neck met, her fingers against Hawke's bare skin, a pulsing artery beneath them.

So many times she had practiced and wrestled with Cullen, and they had both been known to grab at various parts of each other's anatomy now and then, but it was never like this. If someone told Cassandra to come up with an explanation, she would probably blame it on the freshly gained knowledge, awareness: now, Hawke knew that Cassandra also, or maybe only Cassandra? After all, she wasn't sure.

Luckily, Hawke broke the spell: she averted her eyes, rolled over and got up. Cassandra also got to her feet, wobbling, not sure if her centre of gravity was still in the same place. It seemed like something had changed fundamentally.

"Thanks," Hawke said, pulling her staff out of the grass, and just like that she was gone.

Cassandra stayed there for a moment longer, retracing their earlier moves and examining the indentations left in the grass, and then she left to get breakfast. The whole incident made her feel hazy, even more so because she was sure that Varric's tale mentioned a companion of Hawke, one that she had more in common with than just a penchant for shabby taverns in Kirkwall and knocking out Templars' teeth. That equation seemed sufficiently complicated as it was, without the need to add another woman, especially if said woman was a buxom pirate queen, if Varric was to be trusted on that matter, of course. Giving in to desire was one thing, a thing usually even understandable, but Cassandra refused to participate should someone else join them on the field. She was wary of mystification, too – after all, when it came to choosing between curvy pirates and herself, there wasn't really any doubt as to the outcome, and Hawke was probably just making fun of her in a way that was far from sophisticated.

After all that, she decided to mask the embarrassment that took over her in Hawke's presence with politeness, but, as usual, she misjudged the intensity and quickly went from this to a bizarre, awkward joviality. Fake as it was, it turned out to be better than irritation and the constant risk of getting furious, which ultimately improved the general atmosphere and contributed to the Inquisitor including Cassandra in the expedition leaving for Crestwood.

"I can see your daily intercourse with Hawke has improved," she said after the meeting where they announced the expedition. "I am glad."

Cassandra, who went both pale and sweaty having heard the word 'intercourse', was not. "Yes." She cleared her throat and put her hands behind her back. "I showed her a few Seeker tricks, it probably made her realise I mean her no harm."

"But I also noticed you keep watching her closely. Good. There's no such thing as too much caution."

Even though they were spending most of the time on the expedition together as a group, there were still moments - such as standing watch or looking for a good camping spot - when Cassandra was left alone with Hawke. That was when she realised that they really didn't have that much to talk about: combat seemed to be a bearable enough topic, but just how long can you gab about weapons; horses were good too – a broad subject if there ever was any, everyone experienced various incidents with their mounts; and then, if all else failed, there was always the weather to talk about.

One day, when they were collecting firewood, Hawke raised her hand. "Stop," she said. "I can almost feel you sweating, trying to come up with another topic for conversation. There's no need, Seeker. We don't have to talk at all."

"We don’t?" Cassandra echoed, hopeful.

"Of course. Besides, I feel like I couldn't possibly tell you anything about Fereldan weather that you haven't already heard."

And yes, at first, silence was preferable to holding these conversations, but at the end of the day its consequences were way worse: quietness made room for something else, and that something was bodies. Namely, Cassandra's body, that, after years of devoted service, suddenly wanted to feel supple and pretty, and Hawke's body, that started singing a siren song.

"This night will be freezing," said the Iron Bull during one of their stops. He had that irritating habit of chatting up everyone about everything.

"It looks like we'll need to cuddle." Hawke, of course, winked at Cassandra, who, thanks to the most supreme effort of will, managed to keep her eyes fixed on the horizon.

She had known by now just how pernicious it would be to give in to that call. Back then, in Antiva, admiring the shapely bosom of the novice pouring water from the well, meeting her eyes in the refectory, Cassandra had already decided to allow herself a tumble in the sheets in her quarters (and being the Right Hand of the Divine, she was usually given the best quarters in every castle and manor). She couldn't let herself do that same thing with Hawke, because otherwise they would soon tumble in the hay (as Cassandra's quarters in Skyhold were rather mediocre), and it wasn't something she could rationalise.

However, somewhat mysteriously, as she kept quiet and marched on, the more she thought about it, the blurrier the reasons for exercising restraint became. Perhaps maintaining too close of a relationship with people outside the Order was detrimental to their community, but the Seekers didn't really exist anymore, and it had been a long while since the last time Cassandra spent time with her brothers and sisters. Granted, sleeping with novices wasn't exactly advised, but the deed could only be called ill if someone got hurt in the process, which wasn't the case. Nor could anyone actually accuse Cassandra of mistreatment, as she had never meet the novice in question after that, what's more, she wasn't even sure what her name was. The only thing that could be said with certainty was that after the encounter in Antiva she walked with her head held high for longer than the memories were fresh, and her usually strained neck hurt less.

Be that as it may, Hawke remained beyond her reach. Interestingly enough, it wasn't the innuendos or flirty remarks that made her the most attractive, but moments such as her sitting in a chair and bracing her armour-clad legs on the table, or her standing tall, hip cocked to the side, eyes fixed ahead as if there was something there that she saw and others didn't. There were other things that Cassandra, as mentioned, blessed with excellent eyesight, noticed: the petulant curve of her lips, curly hairs resting at the back of her white neck, the expression of mischief on her otherwise plain face, a thumb rubbing the ring on her right hand.

As luck would have it, on their way back they ventured into Bann Regnar's lands, who turned out to be a great admirer of the Inquisitor. After a demonstrative welcome, he invited everyone back to his estate, an offer they would normally probably refuse, but after their adventures in wet Crestwood were all eager to take him up on it. The Bann treated them to a sumptuous meal, after which he offered to show the Inquisitor around his lands, the same ones he wanted to hand over to the Inquisition to protect. She was in no position to refuse, so she went, but Cassandra, who had learned by now to read her usually still face, knew that she wasn't too thrilled with the idea.

They were left completely alone in the Bann's forest residence – even the staff abandoned the larch manor to accompany their lord. As it often was with people used to action, they didn't really know what to do with that much free time on their hands.

"That's it." After more or less an hour spent just sitting around, the Iron Bull gave up and stood. "I'm going to go take care of something. It's a secret, so I can't tell you anything."

"I thought spies were supposed to keep their cover," said Hawke, her eyes following his giant back disappearing behind the lane of cypress trees. "Which he doesn't ever do."

Cassandra just shrugged.

"You're not talking to me?" asked Hawke. Cassandra raised her eyebrows and tilted her head to the side, indicating possibility. "Really?"

Cassandra remained silent. Hawke shook her head. "I didn't know you liked such games. Fine with me though. Let's not talk."

Silent, they examined the stables and the beehives, and then took a walk in the forest. It was the most intense walk Cassandra had ever experienced in her life, and not only because of the humid, hot weather that allowed the Fereldan forest to reveal all its charms. Spending time with someone while not talking to them turned out to be a quite intimate act, suggesting that there was simply nothing to talk about, the way it was sometimes when spending time with their best friend. The sensation only grew stronger as they toured and examined the manor, reaching its peak, funnily enough, in an underground cellar where the Bann stored his spirits.

Hawke ran her hand along the shelf, choosing wine at random, but Cassandra raised her index finger to get Hawke to look at her and reached for the bottle that got her attention right after they entered: a dusty Enjay de Rivez, from one of the better vineyards in Orlais. Hawke reacted with a sound indicating interest, so Cassandra passed her the bottle to let her examine it – somewhat doubtfully, however, since Free Marchers and Fereldans weren't exactly known for their exquisite wine taste. After a short while, Hawke gave her approval, followed by such a smile that Cassandra had to lean on a shelf.

They headed back upstairs to eat supper consisting of what they found in the kitchen. Hawke almost gave up, almost opening her mouth to comment on the ham, but stopped at the last moment. It looked like she doubled her efforts to throw Cassandra off kilter, because suddenly she wasn’t able to walk by her without brushing some part of her body against Cassandra's back or leg; she also took off the leather gambeson she wore underneath the fur and the armour, and reached for a book standing on a shelf, leaning forward in a way that gave Cassandra a perfect view of her cleavage. It was all measured specifically for effect, so calculated that it made Cassandra grind her teeth, frustrated at being such an easy target.

After supper, Hawke lit a fire in the parlour and they sank into the armchairs by the fireplace. Maybe it was the wine going to her head, or maybe something else, but Cassandra was starting to enjoy this Fereldan hunting-in-the-woods decor.

"What's with the smile, Seeker?" Hawke asked. Her cheeks were flushed.

"I think I'm ready to break the vow of silence," said Cassandra, even though she knew perfectly well where that road led. The hay, and so on.

"Are you? You have my attention."

"I would like to ask you a question. A basic kind of one, since I think there's no point in beating around the bush anymore."

Hawke frowned. She sat very low in her armchair, her knees spread wide apart, twitching nervously now and then. "Ask away."

Cassandra was so far ahead, there was no possibility of calling a retreat now.

"Is there someone waiting for you somewhere? Putting a light in the window?"

Hawke let out a short huff of laughter, as if embarrassed. "No, I don't think so. I'm a so called free agent. I walk alone. Completely. Why?"

The apprehension Cassandra sensed in her tone was the last straw. She sprang to her feet, leant over the other armchair. Hawke's back pushed farther into the armchair.

"So you're ready to make good on—to finish—what you keep...?" Cassandra was suddenly inarticulate, which happened sometimes when she got particularly excited.

Hawke's expressive face went from surprised to intrigued, to determined and finally – to wolfish. She grabbed Cassandra by the neck and pulled her in; if that was meant to be the ultimate test, the last deterring move, it looked like she had miscalculated.

Their teeth and noses clashed inelegantly. Hawke took control without hesitation, throwing her arms around Cassandra's neck, still in a somewhat uncomfortable, half-bent position. Cassandra flexed the muscles in her back and legs, pulling both of them up. Hawke, surprised by that course of action, stood up, making the height difference apparent.

Cassandra put her palm against Hawke's cheek. Seeing her own thumb brush along Hawke's flushed, freckled cheek grounded everything in reality; seeing it trace Hawke's wet bottom lip sharpened the desire to its essence. Hawke encircled the finger with her mouth eagerly and so, the land of possibility opened its gates.

Fumbling, they tried to tear out nakedness from between their clothes. It wasn't as intuitive as it was with the novice in Antiva, whose curvy anatomy seemed to simply fall into grasping hands - Hawke was firmer and more unwieldy; she had her own idea of what the scene should look like and was determined to make it happen, and seeing as Cassandra's contribution was more about eagerness than concept, she gave in to that. Soon she found herself lying on the fur in front of Bann Regnar's fireplace, from where she had an interesting view of the pinewood floor where various elements of their clothing lay scattered about. She was still wearing tight jodhpurs that Hawke only managed to get down to her hips, but bravely kept on trying to push down all the way. After that – a hand at the small of her back, at her nape, and finally warm breath at her neck; Hawke covered Cassandra with her body, grinding against her, once, twice and thrice.

Cassandra wondered whether this innocent manor had ever witnessed such scenes.

Hawke kissed the side of her neck and her jaw, so Cassandra turned her head to give it some semblance of a consistent course. It was both awkward and glorious, though truth be told, Cassandra a little embarrassed with how indecent her body was, falling into that lewd rhythm, looking for as much friction as possible. Hawke hoisted herself up on her arms and there was a moment when, sliding down Cassandra's body, she rubbed herself against her buttocks, and Cassandra could feel just how aroused Hawke was.

Then Hawke steadied her hip with one hand and slid the other down in a caress. Cassandra no longer saw the floor and the armchair legs; she clenched her fist on the fur, even braced her forehead against it at some point. It smelled strangely, but she wasn't bothered by it.

Finally, she gave out a cry so loud that she probably scared off every single animal in the vicinity; she outright howled like a wolf. Hawke braced her cheek against Cassandra's back, taking big gulps of air, and then slid off to lay next to her.

The logs in the fireplace crackled with embers. Cassandra realised that she had just bedded the Champion of Kirkwall, and everything suggested that she was going to bed her again in just a moment. Hawke lay next to her, eyes fixed on the ceiling, breathing deeply, but when she felt Cassandra looking at her, she turned her head. The intensity of her gaze was breathtaking.

Cassandra raised herself on her elbow, both with some effort and strong determination to show Hawke the skills she had acquired in Antiva. She started with kissing every protruding part of Hawke’s body, just in case she never had the chance to do that again, and then kneeled between her thighs, slightly unsure as to how it would go down from here.

She thought it went good, because Hawke wrapped her legs around her neck and, with such hold in place, raised her hips up, which caused Cassandra to go up as well, whether she wanted it or not. A sudden stroke of genius made her put her hands on Hawke's buttocks to hold her up, and in this weird position she led her to completion.

The silence that followed was meaningful, though not overly so. Once the afterglow faded, Cassandra got up, picked up her clothes and left the room, trying not to look at Hawke.

It was astonishing how conducive physical intercourse was to reducing the need to think, for putting aside your worries; it would do the Chantry good to rethink recommending purity as the best way to reach the Maker – after all, how long did Maferath serve as solace for the exalted Andraste before he gave in to his weakness?

She went out into the yard and drew some water from the well to wash off her face. The forest around Bann Regnar's estate hummed with soft noise, no questions asked, no judgements passed.

When she got back, Hawke was still laying on her back on the fur, naked as the day she was born. "And here I was, thinking you got scared away," she said, looking at the ceiling.

"I, scared away?" Cassandra poured them both some wine and sat by the fire. "Never."

Hawke looked at her, alert. "Of course. I pegged you wrong."

There was an undertone to that, but Cassandra wasn't feeling up to think about that. She finished her wine and went to get some rest, because the pensive frame of mind Hawke displayed was starting to get to her, too, and that couldn't end well.

She slept like a log, and when she awoke in the morning, Bull was making breakfast in the kitchen as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. They sat at the table, the three of them. Eating a whole-wheat slice of bread, Cassandra wondered what it was that had put her in such a frenzy, because there was nothing special in the woman that sat opposite of her – there were dark bags under her eyes, her nails were chipped and the tattoo on the bridge of her nose looked downright funny in the harsh light of the day. But when Hawke raised her eyes from the plate and looked straight at her, everything came back in a flash, like a huge wave or a natural disaster, and Cassandra didn't even notice that Bull was offering her more eggs.

The Inquisitor came back that afternoon. "They have hot springs," she announced. "On the way to the mountains."

Naturally, they rode to the springs. They were located at the very edge of Bann Regnar's lands in a small foothill village consisting mostly of beautiful landscapes and steamy ponds surrounded by grained rocks. Luckily they took turns bathing – Hawke and the Inquisitor went first, while Cassandra and Bull took care of the horses and set camp in the little cottage chosen by the villagers for the Bann's guests. When they climbed up to the springs, Hawke and the Inquisitor, their cheeks flushed pink, were finishing getting dressed. Cassandra, focused on avoiding Hawke's eyes and the potential view of Bull's private parts, entered the water and took a seat. Bubbles that surfaced from the bottom of the spring massaged her body pleasantly. The only downside to the situation was the unpleasant smell of the water, but supposedly the smellier it was, the healthier.

"Congratulations," said Bull suddenly. His greyish skin was difficult to tell apart from the rocks.

"What for?" asked Cassandra.

"The Qunari believe that when two strong individuals mate, they share their power. Even if that isn’t true, it's still good for the two of you, right?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play stupid with me, Seeker, it does you no credit. I am even a bit jealous it wasn't me you chose to grace with your charms."

Cassandra, gritting her teeth, got out of the pond, even though it was very pleasant in there.

"Hey, I meant no offence!" Bull's words followed her. "Damn, I should've kept my mouth shut."

Cassandra towelled herself off quickly, grabbed her clothes, but refrained from putting them on until she was already on the path. She got cold before she reached the cottage. Inside, Hawke and the Inquisitor were enjoying their supper, and Cassandra joined them at the table in silence. Bull appeared much later, his expression apologetic, like that of a mabari who did something wrong and knew about it.

They talked a little, but Cassandra didn't even know what the topic was. She curled up in her sleeping bag in the corner, but didn't fall asleep for a long time, listening to the hushed voices of her companions and thinking about her missing brothers and sisters from the Order.

Something woke her up in the middle of the night: footsteps, meant to be discreet, but not exactly quiet, and when she opened her eyes, in the dying light of the fire she saw Hawke, tiptoeing stealthily across the room. In her hand she held a towel.

After a moment's worth of an intense, but ultimately pointless internal struggle, Cassandra got out of her sleeping bag, grabbed the slightly damp towel, cautiously stepped over the Iron Bull and left the cottage. Outside, the crispy spring night was in full swing, resonating with animal life. Hawke’s shadow was moving between the torches lining the path leading to the springs. Cassandra followed into her footsteps, holding back just enough to remain unseen.

When she reached her destination, Hawke was already seated in the water: surrounded by clouds of steam, arms spread apart comfortably, eyes set on the path as if she was waiting. Cassandra’s chest tightened at the sight. She went around the edge of the pond, hands on her hips.

"Come on in." Hawke beckoned at her invitingly.

"Why would I?"

"Because you want to. I know you do."

"Do you?"

"Of course. You walk around all day, so stubborn, tightly-wound, making all those threatening expressions, but what you really want is to give vent to something. To do something."

"And what is it that I want to do?" Cassandra asked. There was a ball of light floating above the surface of the water that Hawke probably put there to see Cassandra approach. Its bluish, cold hue gave everything an otherworldly look.

"You've probably read too much of that hogwash Varric wrote and are now looking for what was there," Hawke said, which was not exactly an answer to Cassandra's question.

"If that was the case, I wouldn't have followed you. You're completely different."

"That's true." The ball lost some of its brightness, masking the change of expression on Hawke's face.

Cassandra turned to the rocks and the forest. She had a feeling of finiteness, perhaps as a result of the circumstances, or maybe because of her accrued experience and advancing age; if there ever was any truth to that situation, it was this: indeed, she wanted it. She wanted Hawke's vitality, her ease, her charm, her appetite for adventure, her skills with people. And a few other things she had trouble naming.

She undid her doublet resolutely, jerked at the strings of her shirt. Jumping on one foot to take the boots off turned her around to face the pond, where Hawke sat, her mouth hanging inelegantly open. Cassandra finally undressed and straightened, her breath calm and regular. Hawke gave her an appraising look, which must have meant she desired that body, hers, Cassandra's, body. It was supple and agile as she descended into the hot water, the siren song louder than ever before.

She got closer to Hawke, bracing her hand against the rock behind her back. Hawke spread her legs and closed her eyes instinctively. Cassandra didn't, as she wanted to see every change of expression on Hawke's face when her other hand finally found the spot it was looking for, and it really was quite a sight: a kaleidoscope of expressions, one wave after another. She couldn't resist it anymore – she bent down to these parted red lips. Hawke struggled for breath, as if she was drowning.

It was different than last time, maybe because it was not a break after a long fast. They spent so much time in the water that the skin at their fingertips got wrinkly, and all the heat made Cassandra's head spin. She came once, but vehemently; whether Hawke did as well was hard to tell, with all the sighing, gasping, eye rolling and grabbing at Cassandra's arms and back. She fell silent and calm after sex, but didn't fall into that miserable mood like the last time; she just leant against the rock and craned her neck to gaze at the lightening sky. Cassandra's back got so cold she had to sink back in, and then she just let the water hold her. She couldn't float too far though, as the pond wasn't that big, and finally she reached the opposite bank. Cold wind made her nipples as hard as rock.

She climbed out of the water and held out her hand to Hawke. They got dressed, the silence between them full of respect for the breaking dawn, and then got back to the cottage to get some sleep, if only for a short while. In the room layered in darkness, Cassandra saw Bull's eye flash.

From that moment on, they became conspirators, partners in crime, spies in a foreign country. By day, they passed each other in the courtyard, ate in the tavern, Cassandra brushing off Hawke's sarcastic remarks, Hawke presenting her elaborate distance for everything, but by night... by night every single nook in the hold stood wide open before them. A corner behind the tavern, where they could grasp at each other's collars and give in, unpunished, to passions of the mouths; a little courtyard behind the main tower with a shadowed wall that gave shelter to half-undressed bodies, the uninhabited Eastern Tower everyone believed was haunted – which it was, but not exactly by what Cullen’s soldiers expected. An old, creaking bed stood there, one that Cassandra, embarrassed, often thought about during meetings, obsessed with making Hawke utter that sound halfway between a hiss and a gasp, fixated on coming up with new wanton acts that would finally let her keep pace with Hawke, a source of all creative debauchery.

One night they found another couple in the creaking bed of the Eastern Tower: the man was standing with his pants lowered to his ankles, while the girl was trying to get rid of hers. Cassandra hid behind the door before they could see her, and Hawke said something along the lines of:

"Oh, I'm interrupting, I didn't want to apologise-"

and chortling, knocked into Cassandra behind the door.

Desperation pushed them into the direction of the barn, as Blackwall luckily was out somewhere. Hawke came up with a weird game where one of them was supposed to pretend to be a country girl, and the other a noblewoman, but after such a long day all that Cassandra wanted was a simple roll in the hay. When looking for compromise turned into a struggle, she overpowered Hawke easily – after all, she was stronger than her, both in arms and legs. Hawke looked like she accepted defeat, but her eyes flashed dangerously.

The silence was so overpowering afterwards that it buzzed in their ears.

"I had a woman once, earlier," Hawke said finally, absentmindedly picking a stray straw from her hair.

"Yes?"

"Uh-huh. But she left me."

"What happened?" asked Cassandra, more out of reflex rather than consideration.

"She walked away. We got into such a mess... I thought she would come back. But she didn't. All I know is that she's out there somewhere, roving the Waking Sea."

"That pirate queen?" Cassandra finally managed to put two and two together. "I thought she stayed with you till the end. The book..."

"I thought that by now you would know not to trust Varric." Hawke sat up and began to look for her clothes in the dark. "He didn't write down everything that happened, and some things were simply made up. Isabela never came back after our fight with the qunari."

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said, and she really meant it.

"Thank you." Hawke put on her pants and shirt. "Not that it changes anything."

It changed something, namely that now Cassandra felt terrible; just as if that third woman was around somewhere, looking condemningly from the dark. She put her arms around herself because suddenly she got cold, and looked at the starry sky through the leaky roof of the barn.

"Boy, did I ruin the mood," said Hawke, making the hay rustle. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to get all sappy on you."

"I am also not the best person to talk to about such matters." Cassandra hoisted herself up on her elbow. "Although I can try to be, if you want me to."

"There's no need." Hawke gave a short, toneless laugh, and after some hesitation kneeled next to her and bent down blindly, aiming for Cassandra's mouth – a mouth that somehow, completely ignoring Cassandra's reason, decided that their tender moment was still going strong.

It went strong for a while longer and then it stopped, Hawke rustled the hay some more and disappeared. Cassandra put her arms behind her head and lay there for a while. Mice rummaged in the hay, encouraged by silence and stillness. When she felt the whipping, cold wind on her naked breasts, she finally stood up and got dressed, and took the ladder downstairs. She wanted to sneak back to her own place, but unfortunately Blackwall chose that exact moment to come back from the tavern.

He stared at her suspiciously for a moment, clearly unable to put two and two together. Then he made a surprised face and opened his mouth to say something. Cassandra shook her head before he managed to ask his question, so he fell silent, and after a while spent shifting from one foot to the other said, "Would you like something to drink?"

"Yes." Cassandra discovered. "Thank you."

Blackwall quickly started the fire and poured her some cognac that looked quite expensive for a mere Gray Warden, but she decided to give him the same space he gave her and not pry. They sat by the fire, staring melancholically into the flames until the third nightly bell rang and Blackwall cleared his throat tellingly, making Cassandra aware of just how late it was.

The next day she stared longingly at Hawke's neck, but couldn't separate that part of her body from the rest of her anymore. Hawke sat there on a stool, not exactly innocent since her pose was quite nonchalant, her legs outstretched, and suddenly attached to her was Isabela, the demonic city of Kirkwall and the rebellion, one or the other – just as if earlier, the events from Varric's book had existed in one reality and Hawke in another, and they didn’t merge into one until now.

Hawke noticed her gaze and, with a warning look of her own, let Cassandra know she was staring.

That night they were supposed to meet by the tavern, but Cassandra didn't come. Come evening, she watched Hawke from the window of her room above the smithy, walking around the courtyard, looking around, digging in the grass with the tip of her boot, and finally walking away, her back hunched. Cassandra had a feeling she should follow her, but the embarrassment that such an action would cause surely wasn't worth it.

The next day they set out for an expedition somewhere into Ferelden; Hawke was the last to join them, her hair wild and eyes with dark circles around them. Cassandra caught herself thinking that perhaps there was someone else she spent the night with, and she wasn't happy about it. She wasn't even sure why Hawke was part of this expedition, but, after all, she preferred effects over reasons and so, when the Inquisitor and Solas disappeared into a cave, she and Hawke stayed behind to stand watch.

Cassandra took off her shield and sat on a stone. Hawke kept walking and looking around like she did that evening by the tavern, and there was something familiar about that sight. Cassandra must have smiled, because suddenly Hawke gave her a sly look.

"I know what else we could be doing right now."

"You, for example, could sit still for a moment."

Hawke, unwilling to follow orders as usual, walked around some more, and finally leant against a tree. Cassandra started chewing over her various, urges not even necessarily for carnal relations, but two approaching strangers brought her down to earth.

The woman was tall and thin, clad head to toe in charred Templar armour, while the man was round and bald, dressed in robes different than those from the Fereldan circles. The confidence with which they approached suggested that the Inquisition had disturbed their domestic peace.

"What are you doing here?" asked the Templar with hostility.

"These lands are under the Inquisition's protection," said Cassandra calmly as she got up. "Leave peacefully and we won't harm you."

"And we're quite good at that," Hawke decided to add.

They didn't recognise them, and didn't retreat. Cassandra unsheathed her sword while Hawke raised her hands above her head as if she was merely stretching. It was quick: Cassandra was a better swordswoman than the Templar, which the other woman realised far too late. For her part, Hawke didn't really have a match in skirmishes like this one. When the Inquisitor emerged from the cave, the leaves and straws were still falling to the ground, lifted up by Hawke's magic, and Cassandra was wiping her sword clean.

That joint experience somehow opened new paths for them. Once they got back, faced with the choice of standing Hawke up again, Cassandra got dressed and went out to meet her. They quickly left the tavern for the sake of greener pastures, which in that case was the chamber in the haunted tower. That night, they didn't even do anything too extraordinary. There was no need.

"Why did she leave?" asked Cassandra, when her heartbeat slowed.

Hawke looked at her from the other side of the creaking bed. For a while, it seemed like she wouldn't answer – she just sucked at the nail of her thumb absentmindedly, then looked at the ceiling, frowned and sighed. Cassandra put her arms under her head and waited for so long she almost managed to forget she had asked a question in the first place.

"I didn't try hard enough," muttered Hawke. "I should have done more... better... I thought... I don't even really know what I thought."

"Yes?"

"I was... somehow so involved in everything that had happened to me, so fixated on my own life... It completely didn't register that she had a life on her own, that something was going on there."

Hawke was looking somewhere at the wall. She seemed so immersed in her own thoughts that Cassandra didn't even dare make another encouraging sound.

"But there's a space... A space where you can experience things together. But I was alone. All the time. I didn't even..." she stopped there, and nudged Cassandra with her foot.

"What?"

"You should tell me something about yourself," she said, her tone dull. "I know nothing about you."

"I'm not that interesting. You are."

Hawke hoisted herself up on her elbow. "So modest. True perfection."

Cassandra let out a laugh, a bit forced, but also out of embarrassment, because thanks to Varric's tale she knew, after all, both the finest and the worst moments of Hawke's life, and Hawke could do nothing about it. It was hard to say if, being a Fereldan peasant, Hawke had heard about the Hero of Orlais; Cassandra would bet she didn't and when she tried to imagine what she looked like through Hawke’s eyes, she couldn't see past her cold feet, the scar on her cheek and tightly pressed mouth, a telltale sign of her bad temper.

But Hawke didn't ask any more questions. After a moment Cassandra rolled off the bed and began to gather her clothes, which wasn't going all that well because she still felt weak in the knees after what Hawke had done to her. Hawke slouched around the chamber, dressed carelessly, and began to hum ominously, forming a tube with her hands at her mouth.

"Stop that," said Cassandra.

"I just wanted to scare them properly," said Hawke, her face white in the dark room, cut in half by the red line of the tattoo. "You know, the guards on the walls."

"I think they're already properly scared." Cassandra pushed the door open with her shoulder. "Let's go."

They left the tower and parted ways in the courtyard. Hawke walked away, her steps decisive, the grey cloak she wore on colder days floating behind her.

Cassandra smiled and went her way. That was the last time they met in the tower everyone thought was haunted.

Soon after that, an expedition for the Warden's hold in Adamant set out, and the whole encounter with the Fade and nightmares was so traumatic that Cassandra needed some time to regain her balance. When the dust more or less settled, Hawke informed them that her job here was done and she was leaving.

It was so sudden that it only made Cassandra surprised, instead of, as one might have expected, angry. When they were saying goodbye, Hawke hooked one arm around Cassandra's neck and put her mouth to her ear. "I'm glad we've met," she said and placed a predatory kiss on her neck.

Cullen’s eyes went wide as saucers. Cassandra turned red as a beet and stepped back wordlessly. The rumour spread quickly, but as it lacked fuel in Hawke's absence, it soon gave way to reports of the Iron Bull's new conquest.

When Cassandra met Hawke again, there was a dazzling Rivain woman dripping with gold and wearing a captain's hat by her side.


End file.
